


Gold, Guns, Girls

by allamaraine



Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-08
Updated: 2014-07-08
Packaged: 2018-02-08 01:07:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1920900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allamaraine/pseuds/allamaraine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>1930s AU where Beverly robs a bank, because why not?</p><p>Apologies ahead of time for any historical inaccuracies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gold, Guns, Girls

**Author's Note:**

  * For [picrusher](https://archiveofourown.org/users/picrusher/gifts).



Reginald Barclay often regretted the line of work he had chosen. It had seemed like a magnificent idea when he first left the academy, but after the crash, he suddenly found himself part of a hated class of people: the bankers, the stock-brokers, the financiers. Never mind that the shy Mr. Barclay was merely a bank teller and had no real control over anyone’s money, it was he who had to deal directly with the public. Crying, cursing, panicked pleading, he had faced it all, though never with as much firmness as he would have liked. Still, none of those people had terrified him as much as the lone gun-wielding woman for whom he was now emptying out the bank’s vaults. 

Mr. Barclay’s face reddened at the thought of having to explain what had happened. He knew how that would sound to his employer. He let a woman rob the bank. A woman! Not that she was just any woman. The striking redhead would have stood out in a crowd even if she hadn’t been sporting a fedora and pinstripe suit and a semi-automatic pistol on her belt. With a quiet and easy confidence, she had strolled up to the teller’s window and politely asked that her bag be filled with any cash the bank might happen to have. 

The teller had stared open-mouthed for a moment, finding himself unable to move. Regaining composure was even harder with the robber staring at him with a fixed, tight-lipped smile and one slender hand resting casually on her gun. Mr. Barclay had eventually managed to stutter out, “N-n-no, I… I can’t- no.”

The woman sighed, “I was afraid you might say that.” Faster than a whip, she had her gun out, but she wasn’t pointing it at him. Instead, she had it aimed at the only other person in the bank at that time.

That, thought Barclay as he gathered up stacks of cash, would be his saving grace. Surely the boss would understand him protecting a customer? Especially someone like the wonderful Miss Deanna Troi. She was new to town, but the lady had quickly won Mr. Barclay’s heart. Not only was she beautiful, with her Grecian profile and abundant dark hair, whenever she talked to him, he felt immediately that she understood him. In the back of mind, he told himself that he was being ridiculous, that he had only just met her, but her warm brown eyes, friendly smile, and frequent bank visits gave him the smallest amount of hope that maybe, just maybe, he could truly connect with another human being. And once he saved her from a ruthless bank robber, well– 

“I’m waiting, Mr. Barclay!” 

Right. Now was not the time to be getting caught up in daydreams, Reg. He quickly stuffed the rest of the cash into the bag and ran back out to the main lobby of the bank. 

~~~ 

As she watched the nervous and meek teller carrying the bag of stolen cash towards her, Beverly Crusher almost felt guilty for this robbery. This poor fellow clearly would never hurt a fly and she had to admire him for standing up to her, at least initially. He kept glancing with concern towards the woman cowering at Crusher’s feet. Alas, all his efforts to protect her would be for nothing.

He dumped the bag in front of Crusher and whispered, “Are you going to let Miss Troi go now?”

Crusher pretended to think for a moment, frowning and resting a forefinger on her chin contemplatively. “Hmm… I don’t think so, no.”

Miss Troi whimpered and the teller looked at her huddled form desperately. “Please. Don’t… don’t kill her, and I’ll – ” he stopped, at a loss for what he could offer.

“I’m sorry, but unfortunately, you don’t have anything I want. She, however, does. Fortunately for the both of you, I’m not going to kill her,” Crusher said as she possessively stroked the top of Miss Troi’s head, “A sweet little European princess like her will make for a nice, large ransom.” Crusher hauled Miss Troi to her feet, pushing a gun into the small of her back. She picked up the sack of cash and said, “It’s been a pleasure working with you, Mr. Barclay.” She guided Miss Troi out of the building, confident that Mr. Barclay would not follow. He had shown some measure of bravery, but he was certainly not one to rush after an armed criminal. Still, he was likely to call the police so she couldn’t fool around either.

As always, Crusher had her getaway car, a modest-looking Model A convertible, waiting right outside the door, along with her trusted driver and bodyguard, Natasha, a Russian woman with mysterious origins that Crusher never chose to delve into. She was loyal and talented, and that’s all that mattered. Crusher casually tossed the loot into the front next to Natasha as she and her companion walked around to the back passenger door. Putting away her gun, she opened the door and gestured for her captive to get in first. The woman obliged and as soon as Crusher slid in next to her, they were off.

For a while, everyone in the car was silent and tense, watching for any signs of pursuit. They made it to the outskirts of town, however, with no problems. Crusher gently laid a hand on Troi’s knee. “You did very well, Deanna.”

Troi smiled shyly, “It was rather exhilarating!”

“That’s the spirit! Now, about that little favor you asked of me – ”

She was interrupted by a loud curse from Natasha, who shifted into a higher gear. Crusher turned around and looked behind them. A familiar looking silver Cadillac could be seen in the distance.

“Damn!” said Crusher, “It’s Riker.”

“Riker?” asked Troi.

“William Thomas Riker,” she practically spat out the name. “A federal flatfoot who’s been on our tail for months now.” The Cadillac sped up and they could see that it was joined by two black Plymouths, presumably carrying local police. 

Crusher reached under her seat and pulled out a Tommy gun. Directing Natasha to slow down, Crusher turned around in her seat, rested her elbows on the back of the car, and started shooting. The bullets pinged harmlessly off of the armored police vehicles but she did manage to hit the front tires of one, sending it sliding it into the ditch. A bald man leaned out of Riker’s Cadillac to shoot back and Crusher dove down in the seat, shielding Troi in the process. Natasha hit the gas once again.

“Hey, boss,” she shouted towards the back seat, “I got somethin’ you might like.”

Crusher rolled over to better see what Natasha was holding up. The boss’ face broke out into a wide grin at the sight of the grenade resting in the palm of her driver’s hand. Natasha’s ability to get hold of a variety of weapons was unparalleled. Careful to not raise her head above the back of the car, Crusher eagerly reached out for the grenade. It looked old, possibly from the Great War, but it would do the job. She looked at Troi and asked, “Want to do the honors?”

Troi’s eyes widened and she shook her head. 

Crusher shrugged, then pulled the pin and brazenly stood up, chucking the grenade at the cops with a wild laugh. “Take that, you fed bastards!” 

The Cadillac swerved just in time to miss the explosion, but the second cop car was hit directly. Riker ignored his comrades and kept driving, his bald passenger still leaning out the window, shooting with alarming precision. His last shot grazed Crusher’s shoulder. 

Sinking into the seat with a hiss, she pulled off her suit coat to examine the damage. The bullet had cut through the coat and her shirt and peeled off a layer of skin, but it was nothing to be overly concerned about. She grabbed the Tommy gun again and popped up to start shooting. She succeeded in hitting the bald man, though how critically, she couldn’t tell. No matter. It was enough to cause Riker to slam on his brakes.

Crusher turned back around in her seat and patted her Tommy gun fondly for a moment before saying to Troi, “The only man you can count on is this fella right here. Especially don’t trust any man with a beard. Remember that.”

Troi nodded uncertainly and glanced warily behind them. Riker had turned around and headed back towards town. Troi let out a sigh of relief.

“I suppose I’ll have to get used to this as well,” she said.

Crusher leaned in and with one hand resting on Troi’s cheek, whispered, “Don’t worry, darling, you’ll be wonderful.” She punctuated this with a short, passionate kiss. Troi stared wide eyed with surprise and Crusher laughed. “Doll, I’m going to take you to places you’ve never been before.”


End file.
